Transit
by J. Peterson
Summary: ShizNat AU. Two women meet on a train.
1. Breaking Silence

**Disclaimer:**  
Mai HiME, all characters and related indica are © to Sunrise. No profit made, no infringement intended.

**Author's notes:**  
Finally! I've had the idea for this thing buried in the dank, dusty recesses of my harddrive long enough that I'm surprised it survived until Google Drive became a thing. You lose all your stuff once, you learn.

I listened to **rainbowpig2**'s piano/violin cover of _I Knew You Were Trouble_ so many times while writing this, so do give it a listen on YT if you get the chance.

Yes, another new fic; I know. ._. But it's the only one I'm getting stuff for, and it's becoming bad enough that it's actually keeping me awake. Must. Write.

Enjoy.

**Transit**  
Breaking Silence

* * *

It's an odd time of night. There's still a crowd around you, of course, because it's Tokyo and there are always crowds here, but the crowd is smaller. Small enough for there to be plenty of seats available here in the backmost car, and also quiet enough because most of the other passengers are either dozing or fiddling with various electronics. It's between the additional swells of couples going out to dinner and groups heading out to party or to late shifts, and you had to take the trip a few times before you figured this out, but now it fits almost like a comfortable, old shoe.

Walk to Kita-Urawa, wait for the next Keihin-Tohoku to arrive, enter the last car, sit down, pull out laptop and work. Wait for the overhead to mention Yurakucho, put away laptop, leave train at Shimbashi. Go to the office, spend the necessary time up- and downloading everything to the systems you can't access from outside the physical building, and then go home and start the process over again once you've spent another week with your time fairly evenly divided between school, work and sleep.

Tonight, you're doing school-work while the train rambles along, because the work-work you have left isn't really something you should be doing in an area where anyone could be looking over your shoulder; sensitive information and all that. So you tab back and forth between scanned pages and websites and your text editor; fingers flying over the keys with a low clatter as you steadily add to the assignment you have due for next week.

"_Akabane,"_ the voice on the speakers chimes in, and you glance up to see the familiar shuffle of people preparing to disembark. "_Akabane_."

You've learned through trial and error that trying to work through passengers leaving and entering is a sketchy idea, at best. Even the slowest nights can have a sudden influx of people, and every time you've decided that you won't have to move or lift anything out of anyone's way, you end up being wrong. Now, you've grown used to just straightening in your seat and resting your folded hands on your laptop from the moment the train stops until it starts to move again, and while it's a bit of an annoyance to be interrupted so frequently, you've also learned to deal with it and appreciate the tiny breaks.

There's quite a number of people boarding here, and you bump your computer bag further under your seat with one, heeled foot with the ease of long practice, and tilt your head back to study the overview of the line that's been stuck to the opposite wall just under the ceiling. The seat next to you – because you're sitting in one of the furthest ones from the doors – is one of the last to be claimed, but when someone does sit there, they do it with such a thud that _you_ actually bounce a little, and you can't help but give the newcomer a glance from the corner of your eye while the remaining passengers file in.

Your new neighbor is a girl - or rather a young woman – carrying absolutely nothing but the clothes on her body and the sleek, silvery headphones that cover her ears and settles like a headband over her scalp. She is also, you note with some amusement, pretty much your opposite in everything from her clothes to her posture. Skinny, tight-fitting black jeans above equally black sneakers and a short-sleeved, unbuttoned and untucked, navy blue shirt over a white top makes a marked contrast to your burgundy skirt suit, matching heels and cream-colored silk blouse, and where she's slumped back in her seat with her legs extended and her arms crossed over her chest, you're sitting perfectly erect with your ankles folded just below your seat. Her hair, too, is dark where yours is fair; black as night and currently resting over one shoulder in a thick braid that extends down to her stomach, and you turn your head a little further because hers is tilted back and her eyes closed, and you can hear the pounding of music from her headphones. Perfect, porcelain skin over a face that doesn't carry the faintest trace of makeup, but with a natural touch of red in her cheeks and a lean, subtly curved body that many women would probably kill for.

She also has what's quite possibly the greenest eyes you've ever seen, you decide when your gaze flits back to her face and you realize that she's caught you staring. Neat, black eyebrows are scrunching together in an annoyed scowl, and long, equally black lashes are coming closer together when she narrows her eyes at you; mouth pressing into a thin line of discontent.

You let one of your own eyebrows rise just a fraction, and feel an amused tug at the corner of your mouth that you give in to. It becomes a smile when she sharpens the look into a glare, and then turns her head away with an irritated huff of air while the faint beats from her music grow louder and the train starts moving.

_Cute_.

xXxXx

You only go to the office once a week unless something pressing comes up that you can't handle from home. It's always on Fridays; mainly because that's when both you and the company have the best idea of what the following week will bring, but also because Saturday is only a half-day of classes and you can thus allow yourself to sleep a little less the night before. Most of your work-work, you handle from the privacy of your top-floor, Saitama apartment since this is Tokyo rather than Kyoto, and the people here aren't quite as used to you as the ones at the main office. The few times you _did_ go in physically, people were falling all over themselves to win your favor, and you got so little actual work done that you convinced your father that you'd be far more efficient by working from home; merely going in when you need to add or pull information from the systems that are so locked down that no external access is allowed.

So every Friday, you catch a train to the Shimbashi offices and make sure to arrive a little after ten in the evening since experience has taught you that the only other people there at that time are the security guards. Their only concern is your safety, and they're usually relaxed family men who are far more likely to offer you tea or coffee from their thermoses than they are to unsubtly try to convince you to recommend them to your father. You stay for usually an hour but sometimes more, and tend to make it back home before midnight unless things get away from you. That's been the case since you transferred to Todai two years ago.

You are, however, quite sure that you've never before seen the girl who is now on the same train as you every week. There's always the possibility that she's traveled later or earlier or simply sat in a different car, but you've noticed her five Fridays in a row now, and you've actually started _looking_ for her when the train pulls into Akabane station. She's usually alone and seems quite content to lean back, obstruct whatever space there is in front of her by extending her long legs and ignoring the world while she listens to her music, but there was that evening two weeks ago when she had her headphones around her neck instead of over her ears, and was in the company of a laughing, redheaded woman who actually seemed to know her well enough to draw a smile from her more often than not.

Not that you were watching them. Or that you could hear what they were saying, even if you were.

"_Akabane_," the overhead system reminds everyone, and you lift your head. "_Akabane_."

Tonight, she's alone again, and you spend a few moments wondering if she's heading out or going home, or maybe traveling to work while you watch her seat herself halfway across the length of the car from you. She's always dressed nicely – if hardly formally – but never carries any type of bag that might hold work clothes or school books or anything of the kind. Always in sneakers, and jeans, and some kind of top under an unbuttoned shirt, though the sleeves of the latter have gotten longer as the warm nights of summer start to cool. Her hair is either braided or loose around her shoulders, and tonight it's a free curtain of straight, obsidian silk; only held back by her headphones.

As usual, she seems to feel your gaze within a matter of seconds, but by now you've grown tired of the scowls – cute though they may be – and so this time, you stick out your tongue the instant you see the expression start to form. She startles _bodily_ at that; a fine ripple of shock traveling from her head down her shoulders and into her arms, and you have to hide a smile behind one hand and force down a soft laugh when you see the heels of her feet actually jerk up from the floor.

Now her expression is a mix between confusion and consternation; a faint frown that's just that instead of a scowl or a glower, and a tiny hint of tension in her cheeks that makes her mouth purse just a fraction.

You wink at her, and bend your face back towards your laptop to hide your grin when you see that she's blushing.

xXxXx

The next weeks proceed in the same manner much to your enjoyment, though after three more Fridays she seems to tire of your surprising her, and only lets her face shape the barest hints of her scowl before crossing her eyes and twisting her mouth and nose into the most absurd grimace you've ever seen. It's your turn to start this time, and then to frown when she sends you a satisfied look and settles back into her seat with a smirk.

The gauntlet, you decide as you watch her close her eyes and squint your own, has been thrown.

On the following Friday, you break your usual habit of sitting as far from the doors as possible, and instead claim an available seat that not only faces them, but is directly in front of them. Once the train starts pulling out of Kita-Urawa station and your fellow passengers are immersed in either sleep, phones, tablets or laptops, you start pulling out your own computer and use the motion to disguise your opening several of the top buttons of your shirt. Thanks to your suit jacket, it's virtually unnoticeable to anyone not standing directly above you, and you don't get a single, odd look from anyone until Akabane.

Again, the crowd entering the train here is surprisingly sizable, and you take care to extend your legs just a little bit to keep the floor directly in front of you clear, and your eyes trained on your laptop's monitor. Only, however, until you see sneakers and skinny jeans in your peripheral vision; then you tuck your ankles under your seat as always, and mentally cross your fingers. All the seats, you confirm with a subtle glance, are taken, and even standing room is becoming sparse.

It's a gamble, but it pays off. There's denim-clad knees in front of your own within seconds, and you presume that her willingness to stand there is due to the fact that you seem fully immersed in your work to any casual observer. You spend a few more moments typing and clicking – you _do_ have other things to do – but when you feel the faint jerk of the train starting to move and hear the engines churn, you roll your shoulders. The motion – as was intended – makes your shirt open a fraction more, and in order to make absolutely certain that your preparation isn't for naught, you adjust your legs just enough that your knees brush hers.

There's an abrupt, hastily muffled choking sound from above your head, and you will yourself not to grin. Instead, you pause in your typing and tilt your head back with a puzzled, little frown, and find that it's a definite struggle to keep your face schooled in that manner when you not only see her wide-eyed, full-face blush, but also catch that brilliantly green gaze rapidly flitting _up_ to meet your eyes. You manage, however, and give your own head a slight, sideways cant while raising your own eyebrows in innocent inquiry.

She, much to your amusement, sputters once, and then rapidly elbows her way to the end of the car while you discreetly bring the edges of your shirt back together and try not to laugh.

xXxXx

Two Fridays after, you're so exhausted that you can barely see straight, because the end of term is approaching and your exam preparation is whittling entirely too much time away from your sleep schedule. Still, there's work to be done, and while you're spending a disturbing amount of time either rubbing a hand over your face or running your fingers through your bangs, you're heading to Shimbashi because you have to.

You're not even hearing the station announcements this time because you're too busy simply trying to keep your eyes open, and so when something drops into your lap, it startles you enough that you almost jump out of your seat. You send the object a wide-eyed stare and then feel your brow furrow when you realize that it's something as innocuous as a simple bottle; brown glass and a silver screw-lid with a colorful, red, white and yellow label.

_Dekavita C_, you read when you scoop the bottle into your hand, and then frown a little deeper. _An energy drink?_

Curious, you crane your neck and survey the half-empty car, but recognize no one until you see her sitting in the seat directly behind you; as always slouched back with her headphones on, her arms crossed – though over a well-worn backpack this time - and her eyes closed. With a half-smile, you keep your eyes on her and count to five in your own head, and at four, one green eye opens to regard you. You let your smile become a full one at that and give her a thankful look, and though her face folds into a one of confusion when her other eye opens, there's a faint tug at the corner of her mouth that she can't quite hold back.

With one hand, you lift the bottle into view and incline your head, and then you almost forget to breathe because her lips shape a full grin that lets perfect, white teeth glitter in the yellowish light, and _My Gods_ the way it makes her eyes sparkle is enough to make your heart skip four beats in a row in pure shock.

When her eyes close again, you turn back around and try to gather your thoughts enough to focus on your work. You open the bottle with a soft click of the lid releasing, and smile when you hear a low chuckle behind you. Then the mouth of the bottle meets your own, and you let the liquid within wash over your taste buds. It's sweet – almost like honey – and you mentally file away the name when you bring the bottle back down and study the label.

_Cute_, you remember thinking when you first saw her, and realize that you have to amend that.

_Considerate_.

A glance over your shoulder at the dark window behind you, and you can make out her peaceful reflection easily.

_Beautiful_.

xXxXx

Exam preparation follows you into the next week as well, but it's more doable now since the amount of office work you're assigned has dwindled noticeably. You guess that your father is exerting his authority and temporarily channeling tasks away from you; presumably because of that one phone call where you were so out of it that you gave him the ingredients of _Yodofu_ when he was most certainly asking for something else. You still head in, though, and leave a little earlier than normal to give yourself the time to stop by one of the small stores near the station.

Surprisingly, you see her already occupying a seat near the back when you enter the train; her shirt is a deep, burnt red today with the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, and she's braided her hair again. Tonight, the car is practically empty, and while that removes the excuse of a crowd, you find yourself stepping closer with the low _click-clack_ of your heels on the glimmering floor. She still has her eyes closed and her headphones on, of course, though only the cups themselves are silver now; both the headband and the wires are a similar red to that of her shirt, and when you reach the seat next to her, you can hear the dull thumping of her music.

The train has yet to move, and you take the chance to lean over the nearest seat to touch her shoulder. Yes, you could have waited – she tends to feel your gaze in as little as three seconds – but if you can start breaking a barrier once a week instead of once a month, then that's infinitely preferable to your mind. One very green eye pops open instantly and rolls towards you, then the other opens as well, and she sits up a little; her hands coming up to shift her headphones back while she cants her head in question.

"May I?" you inquire, and let your hand gesture to the seat beside her.

Briefly, she surveys the car itself with short, flitting motions of her eyes; clearly making note of the fact that there are _plenty_ of seats available. For moment, you consider retracting your question and maybe claiming the available space behind her instead, but then those eyes are back on you, and you see that same, small tug at the corner of her lips as she hefts the backpack that was resting next to her, and shoves it under her own knees instead.

"Sure." Her voice is lower than average for a woman; amused, and even a little raspy as she nods to the now empty seat. "Siddown."

"Thank you." You lower yourself into place next to her with the vague sensation that while she's turned her head away, she's still watching you via the reflection in the window as the train starts to move. That works, though, because you can catch her eyes in the same way when you've settled your bag in your own lap and removed something from it, which you then hold out to her with a faint, wry smile.

She clearly recognizes the item, and though the window offers a faintly blurry reflection at best, the half-grin that's her reaction is easy enough to make out. It becomes clearer when her head turns back towards you, and the amused glint in her eyes makes your own smile widen as she takes the bottle from you with a faint brush of her fingers against yours.

"Thanks." She works her backpack up between her own knees and settles the bottle into a side pocket before letting the bag drop back to the floor with a low thud. Then her hands are shifting the headphones back and down until they rest around her neck, and she spends a few, silent seconds tugging her braid free of them before turning slightly onto one hip to better face you; arms once again folding loosely across her front. "Hope you have your own," she tells you, and there's that little pull at the edge of her lips again. "Exams suck."

You sniff softly and snap the leather of your computer bag open again, then open a zipper and pull enough at the side that she can see the two other bottles settled into the netting next to your computer. Deadpan is probably the best term to describe your own expression, though it quickly changes into an irrepressible grin when you see and hear her chuckle. It's a nice sound, you decide; low in her chest before creeping up her throat and making both her abdomen tense and her nostrils flare just the tiniest bit. It also lends the faintest sparkle to those very green eyes and tugs her lips into a smile that shows her teeth, and you definitely want to see more of it sometime.

"Kuga Natsuki," she tells you, and there's the soft sound of her hair dragging against the seat's headrest as she bends her neck in lieu of an actual bow, and then raises her eyebrows in question.

You incline your own head, and fold your hands across your bag. "Fujino Shizuru."


	2. Truth and Perception

For disclaimers, please see part one.

**Author's notes:**  
In which Natsuki manages to annoy Shizuru, and pays the price. Also upping the rating to T for now, because Natsuki is a bit of a potty-mouth. Write what you know.

I actually wanted to re-write this, but... I forgot why, so here we are.

Enjoy.

**Transit**  
Truth and Perception

* * *

With the barrier of speech broken, your weekly trips become all the more interesting. Granted, you can only talk to her when the car is empty enough that you can sit somewhere near each other, but with how late the hour is, that's possible more often than not. On the fourteenth Friday, the only available seat when she boarded was directly in front of you, and you'd smiled to see her jab and bump her way into it and then settle on her knees with her arms folded around the headrest. Her neighbor – a well-dressed man somewhere in his forties – had been less than impressed, and you'd told her as much.

"Look at all the fucks I give," Natsuki had smirked, and opened her hands to show that they were empty.

By now, you've learned to recognize both the sound of her footsteps and the unique, oddly wintry scent of her; a hint of something spicy that reminds you of pine, and a sharp, pleasant tang that mostly makes you think of fresh snow. You've learned that she's a graduate student like you are, though her focus is architecture, which helps to explain the fact that you haven't seen her before in spite of the two of you both spending your school hours at the Hongo campus of Tokyo University. You, as you've told her, are a student of business and commerce, and the buildings are housed at a distance from each other.

The time you spend on the train between Akabane and Shimbashi is now exclusively dedicated to her on the days where the two of you can sit together, and somewhere between the time she let you talk her into showing you her structural sketches (_Doodles - the paper for sketches is way too big to bring on here._) and the time where she first started telling you off for working too much, you admit to yourself that you're definitely attracted to her. It helps to learn that she's the child of two fathers and for that reason _rather_ unlikely to have a dislike for homosexuality, but you still keep those thoughts to yourself; both because you've seen no evidence that the attraction is mutual, and because the friendship you're building with her goes above and beyond that.

On the eighteenth Friday, fall is starting to fade into winter, and there's a strong wind rushing down the streets outside. That's probably why she's a little rumpled when she enters the car at Akabane and pushes at her headphones to let them drop under the high, furry collar of her leather jacket. The side-braid you've seen so often is there again tonight, but several strands of long, ink-black hair have escaped, and move in gentle waves over the side of her face as she first looks around, then spots you and starts to move in your direction.

Tonight, you've claimed a seat in one of those almost booth-like little areas that have four seats in total, with two of them facing the other two. Aside from the one you're in, the other three are empty, and Natsuki plops into the one directly across from you while her backpack plops into the one next to her, and she gives your open laptop an annoyed look.

"You work too hard," she tells you, and you roll your eyes because that's the way she's greeted you for a month now.

"Hello to you, too." You send her an amused look, but close the laptop after a few, saving clicks. "I do have to spend the time before you arrive by doing _something_."

"Uh huh." She pulls a packet of gum from her pocket and grabs a piece for herself, then offers the pack to you with a quirking eyebrow. "I'm starting to think this is the only time of week you _do_ relax." You shake your head at the gum, and she pockets it again with a shrug before leveling a look at you. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"Kuga-san is wrong," you reply dutifully, and settle the laptop into your own bag. When you've stowed the bag away under your seat and straighten again, you deduce from her expression that she's anything but convinced.

She's learning. She's not necessarily _right_, but she's learning._  
_

"You're a perfectionist," she comments, and leans back in her seat as those calculating, green eyes study you from head to toe. "Because your clothes are always flawless, and I've never seen a hair out of place on your head." One long finger flicks towards the simple, neat updo you always wear it in, and you resist the urge to fidget under her gaze. "So here's my guess." She settles her elbows on her knees, and rests her chin on her folded hands. "You could get perfect grades with half the work you're putting in."

"Oh?" You settle one knee over the other with practiced ease, and let your lips shape a smile as you meet her eyes. "Are you suggesting a bet?"

She shrugs a single shoulder, and her lips purse. "If you want," she agrees. "If I'm right, you stop working during these trips. At all." She eyes you steadily. "Listen to music, or people-watch. Whatever."

Well, that's certainly innocent enough. "And if you're wrong?"

"If I'm wrong," she repeats and fishes a small square of paper from her chest pocket. "I'll take you here. My treat."

The piece of paper, you decide as you take it from her and study it, is a business card. The background is as black as her hair, and the lettering is a metallic white that shimmers in the light when you twist the card. It doesn't say much; just _Howl_, and and an address that you deduce to be somewhere near Shinagawa. "A bar?" you guess, and watch her nod. "A haunt of yours?"

Natsuki's mouth twitches. "Where I work," she corrects, and settles back into her seat while freeing her headphones again and settling them over her ears. "Let me know."

xXxXx

Two weeks later, it's become more than obvious that she's absolutely correct. You've handed in three minor assignments that you spent significantly less time on than usual, and ended up getting perfect grades on all of them. You can't quite decide if you're relieved because you now have more time to spend on more enjoyable things, disappointed because this means that Natsuki _won't_ be taking you anywhere, or annoyed because you've spent so long putting in way more effort than necessary.

When the train pulls into Akebane, however, it must be the annoyance that shows, because she starts laughing the second she meets your eyes.

"I win, huh?" she deduces, and plops down next to you with a satisfied smirk after giving the already stowed-away bag beneath your seat a glance.

"Yes." You send her a look when she starts chuckling triumphantly, but end up joining in yourself because she looks so proud. The early winter chill has left her cheeks with a faint, rosy tint, and you're honest enough with yourself to admit that you regret not getting the chance to spend time with her outside this train car. Perhaps it's then up to you to make that happen. "I don't get to run up a bar tab in Kuga-san's name," you tell her, and lean back with a sigh. "I'm so disappointed."

"I'm sure." She gives you a droll look, and then she's turning in her seat and settling her headphones over your ears without any preamble whatsoever while you have to force yourself to not react when you feel her fingertips brush against your skin.

"So." Natsuki lifts one hand to show you the little remote attached to the wire. "Music, right?" She waits for you to nod, then fishes her phone from her pocket and starts scrolling through it with a smirk. "Something tells me you're not a VK fan," she mutters, and sends you a brief, dry glance. "Let's try this."

There's a click, and then the gentle, almost tragic sound of strings. You close your eyes, and are idly aware of the weight of that green gaze resting on your face as you listen. It's a violin, you identify, and presumably a cover, because you remember hearing a similar piece of music on the radio this morning. The piece is beautifully arranged and performed, with both the melody and more secondary and tertiary notes being played in perfect concert. It extends, even; smoothly blending into a different tune that you also recognize, though the new song is far older.

"Alright?" Natsuki questions some time later, when the music stops and your eyes open.

"It needs some keys," you deadpan, and then chuckle when she rolls her eyes. "I'm kidding; that was beautiful."

"Hmph." She snatches her headphones from your extended finger with a low-wattage glare, and settles them back into place around her own neck. "So you'll spend more time chilling out from now on?"

"I'll try," you agree, and watch her quirk a challenging eyebrow at you that you struggle not to smile at. "Though perhaps Kuga-san should take me out, anyway. Just to make sure."

"Just to make sure, huh?" Her head thumps back against the seat as she studies you from the corner of her eye, and you take care to meet the look evenly and calmly even though it takes two full stops of the train before she speaks again. "Alright. Be on this train at 8:15 on any Saturday evening, and I can at least take you to work with me." She folds her arms over her chest and closes her eyes. "If you gotta run up a tab, though, do it in your own name."

"Well, that's hardly a gentlemanly thing to require on a date," you tease.

"I never said I was a gentleman, and nobody called it a date," Natsuki reminds you without as much as a glance, and then raises a single finger alongside the corner of her mouth. "But if you unbend enough to let your hair down, I'll think about it."

xXxXx

"If I unbend enough," you mutter, and feel your mouth twist sourly while you turn a page and make a few notes in the margin of the next one. Alright, so Natsuki managed to hit a nerve when she said that. She seemed to notice, too, but offered no apologies up until the time you disembarked in Shimbashi, and yesterday, she didn't even try to approach you when she boarded in Akabane.

You've heard your father say things in much the same vein since your last year of high school: _You need to have fun, Shi-chin. What are you doing home – you're young, and so is the night! Why don't you ever bring home any of the nice young people who keep calling? How can your teachers say that everyone loves you, but I never meet any of the ones who do?_

The answer to the last two, of course, is the simple fact that those 'nice young people' are – or in some cases _were_ – fans, and there's a far stretch between that and friends. The answer to the second question was always that you're busy with first school and helping around the house after your mother's death, and later with school and work and helping around the house. As for the first...

_You need to have fun_.

It's not really that big a leap from _you work too hard_, is it? But to you, fun is naginatajutsu or a book or the piano, or a phone call home to talk to your father. In rarer cases, it's tea with Haruka, or a debate with Reito over politics or philosophy at a nearby, sidewalk cafe. You tried the whole club-hopping, get-drunk-and-maybe-take-someone-home thing a few times, but it was never something you found yourself enjoying, and spending hours giggling and gossiping with other women your age is just... no. You've been the subject of such gossip too many times to take part in it.

For some reason, not liking the insipid activities of your own generation makes most people view you as a shut-in, and a stick in the mud. Even Natsuki, who quite frankly doesn't have the right to form any sort of opinion when she sees you all of 15 minutes out of the week in a godsbeblasted _train_. Yes, you're always dressed for the office when she does see you, but even at ten PM there's such a thing as dress codes, and spiked heels are quite useful in occasionally crowded cars.

Now you're annoyed, and you let your pen drop to the desk with a whoosh of expelled breath while you glower into the darkening room. It's just shy of six o'clock, you note, and drum your fingers against the desk as you think. If you hurry, it's entirely possible for you to shower and get ready in time to catch the train Natsuki will be on tonight, and with a sly little smile, you decide to do just that.

Clearly, there's still a lot for her to learn.

xXxXx

You're getting a _lot_ of appreciative glances from men and women alike when you wait for the train in Kita-Urawa. They're the kind that you're used to when not in your office-clothes – although you do get quite a few even in that garb - and the only difference between now and your time spent traveling to and from school is the heat in them. You don't dress to make jaws drop for class, after all; at least not on purpose.

Tonight, however, making jaws drop is very much your intention – or rather, one jaw in particular. For that reason, you're looking every bit the fashionable, desirable young woman in skintight, stonewashed jeans that have a few, strategically placed rips and even a couple of chains, and settle nicely into your mid-calf high, heeled leather boots. A tight, sleeve- and strapless wine-red top just barely peeks out from the wide-necked, printed t-shirt that's large enough to hang low and expose your shoulder, but also fine enough to fall around your torso in uneven lines that both reveal and hide your flat abdomen and the thin strip of skin above the hem of your jeans. It's remarkably warm for this time of the year, so your black chesterfield coat is hanging over your folded arms as you lean against a pillar and tap your foot.

Hair and makeup is what you spent the most time on, and as the train pulls in, you stride through the crowd that parts for you as if on instinct and claim a standing spot just beside the door of the last car. Here, you face the window and let the car fill as the train continues on, and give your reflection a critical eye when there are no station lights to shield it.

Your makeup, for the most part, is entirely natural, and really only differs from your every-day look in the added attention to your eyes and mouth. You've given your eyes a very smoky and – in your own opinion – very sexy look with both black and some more earthy tones that makes the unusual red of them stand out behind lashes that are just a little thicker, and definitely a good deal darker than their normal gold. Your lips are glossy, as always, but expertly and subtly lined in a shade just one or two darker than the peach-like pink that now adorns them, and you watch them curve into a smirk as the train pulls out of Kawaguchi.

Akabane is next, and because it's Saturday evening, the car is definitely crowded.

In the few minutes that you have, your turn your head to and fro to make sure that the slight, evening breeze hasn't done too much to your hair. It's been meticulously styled and coiffed with a light, fruit-scented product, and while several thick locks of it are artfully pinned to the top and back of your head, the better part of it tumbles down your back in silky, golden waves, with only a few, carefully random strands framing your face alongside your bangs.

"_Akabane_," the loudspeaker announces, and you give the few, golden accessories hanging from your neck, your earlobes or your wrists a few twitches before turning your back to the window and settling your coat over the metal railing. "_Akabane_."

Natsuki is one of the first people to enter the car, though she ends up standing only about a foot or so in front of you and to your right. She has her back turned and her headphones on, and the fact that she can't see you outright gives you the opportunity to watch her look first to one side, then to the other with a frown, and finally let her shoulders slump a little.

Aw. You may not be interpreting correctly, but if she's looking for you and disappointed not to find you, then her reaction is honestly quite sweet, and maybe you'll be just a little nicer to her than you originally planned. There is the matter of the two young men standing in your way, but they're easily and eagerly moving aside after a pat to their shoulders and a charming smile; so eagerly, in fact, that several other people are almost knocked over.

Details, though. Now Natsuki's back is unguarded, and there's nothing stopping you from grabbing onto the back of her jacket and pulling, so you do just that, and then swallow a chuckle when she stumbles backwards and directly up against you. You catch her and get her back on her own balance easily, and then quirk a single eyebrow when she spins in place and her expression switches from one of anger to one of slack-jawed shock in the blink of an eye.

"Whoa." She's pulling her headphones off in a way that looks very absent-minded, and doesn't really seem to know where to look first. "Uh... hi?"

"Hi." You carefully maintain your aloof expression as you hook one finger in one of her belt-loops and tug. "For the record," you tell her softly, and switch your positions as the crowd closes disinterestedly around you again and you guide her back against the window with one palm flat against her belly. "I am perfectly capable of unbending."

"Uh-"

"Ah." You touch a fingertip to her lips, and make the most of the height-advantage that your heels give you as you bend your neck to send her a stern look. "No." You shake your head, and feel her swallow when your finger trails down over her chin and along the front of her throat. "You don't get to talk right now," you tell her very quietly, and step fully into her personal space; enough that you can feel her chest move as she draws in a breath. "And you certainly don't get to form an opinion about me based on a quarter hour out of 168. Understood?"

There's a faint tint of red to her cheeks, but Natsuki nods.

"Good." She's left her hair loose tonight, and you take advantage of that by curling your fingers into the silken strands at the base of her skull as you nudge her bodily back against the wall. "Now..." You let your breath wash over her ear, and hide a smile at the trail of goosebumps you can see chasing across her skin in reaction. "You are attracted to me, and I am attracted to you," you whisper, and while you can't see her blush due to your position, you can _feel_ it for the same reason. "Spending more time together is the next logical step; don't you agree?" You don't wait for her to nod, but instead slip your free hand under her jacket and onto her waist. "So if you can find a way to apologize for categorizing me so rudely..." The skin under your hand is trembling. "I'll think about it."

If the muffled, half-choking sound at your choice of words is any indication, she recognizes them as her own from a few weeks ago.

"_Higashi-Jujo. Higashi-Jujo_."

"Have a good evening," you murmur against the side of her red face, and press the barest hint of a kiss to the space where her ear joins her jaw. "Na-tsu-ki."

You slide your coat over your shoulders and fluidly tease your hair free of it as you exit the train at the very next station. Again, you're given a wide, appreciative berth by the other commuters, and can practically feel the stares burning into your back and points more southerly as you walk. You don't bother looking back; if she's as red as you think she is based on the heat of her skin where it met your own, then she'd probably be doubly embarrassed by you seeing it.

The ball, as they say, is in her court now. And the two hours spent on your appearance were well worth the few minutes it actually took.


End file.
